Part 15 (1/2)
”Affair,” I repeated horrified. The word completely freaked me out.
”The only thing that counts as real proof of extramarital activity is finding thong underwear that's not yours. And not getting a piece of jewelry you expected isn't exactly...well, it wouldn't stand up in court. Maybe he just forgot it.”
I'd met Lauren for lunch the next day on the terrace of L'Ideal. It was so sunny that the skiers stripped down to their T-s.h.i.+rts while they ate their plates of pela. It was however, not a good choice of venue for such a conversation: everyone in Megeve came here for lunch, if they could get a table.
”Lauren! Shhhhh!” I hissed, looking around at the other diners anxiously. No one was taking the slightest notice of us. ”What am I going to do-”
At that moment, call it coincidence, or just call it skiing-Sophia herself appeared on the far corner of the terrace. She was dressed in a cream ski outfit. As she bent over to loosen her boots, I noticed a red star on the b.u.t.t of her pants. She had the same ski gear as Marci. She removed her jacket and tied it around her waist. She was wearing a thin pink T-s.h.i.+rt underneath, which showed off her tan beautifully. Just then a cry went up from a table of six Frenchmen two tables away from us. They all had George Hamilton tans, which, in Megeve, are still very in.
”Sophia! Viens nous voir!” they called when they saw her. Sophia waved and made her way toward them.
”Oh, G.o.d, she's coming this way,” I said.
”Be cool, say h.e.l.lo. In fact, let's be over-friendly,” commanded Lauren. ”h.e.l.lo, Sophia!” she called out loudly, as Sophia made her way across the terrace.
Sophia turned and saw us. She smiled and walked across to our table. When she arrived she said, ”Lauren! Hi! Sylvie! Thank you so much for last night. Pierre loved the party...such a lovely place...I heard Eugenie did a striptease...in your hot tub....”
Something caught my eye. If I wasn't mistaken, there, hanging just below the edge of Sophia's tee was a pendant. Each time she made a little movement, I glimpsed it, swinging against her skin. The necklace consisted of a platinum chain, with a large, translucent mauve stone attached. Sure enough, the letter S snaked around it in diamonds. It was exquisite. It couldn't be, I thought. I looked again, hoping I wasn't being too obvious, but Sophia registered my gaze. She smiled right at me and said, ”Have you seen my Christmas present, Sylvie?” As Sophia regaled us with details of Eugenie's antics, she twirled the lovely jewel in her fingers, and then popped it in her mouth and chewed on it. Was she flaunting it in front of me?
Hoping to hide the distress in my eyes, I grabbed my new Hermes sungla.s.ses off the table and put them on. Suddenly the necklace came into slightly sharper focus with the aid of the polarized lenses. As I feared, it was indeed identical to the S. J. Phillips sketch. Never, ever, had I regretted a pair of y650 ski gla.s.ses so much.
18.
Valley of the Dolls, the Sequel.
”My G.o.d, Sylvie, when did you last eat?” bellowed Tinsley. ”You look like a prisoner of war.”
It couldn't have mattered less to Tinsley that she was shrieking through a private movie screening at Soho House, but then, everyone does that in New York. It's not considered particularly sophisticated to actually watch the movie at a private screening. All anyone cares about at those things is each other's outfits, even though it's too dark to see them.
”I'm just tired. Ssshhh,” I whispered, gesturing at the screen.
The truth was, I had barely slept since we'd gotten back from Megeve. The last few days there had been a nightmare, with Hunter enjoying himself more and more, while I seethed behind those wretched sungla.s.ses. I was so flabbergasted by what had occurred that day at L'Ideal, that I decided to wait until I got home to decide what to do next. The flights home were exhausting, and by the time I got back to New York I was so stressed out and fatigued that I looked grimmer than the Corpse Bride.
That night in early January Thack was hosting the screening of The Women. It was a comedy of divorcees, which was the last thing I felt like seeing. But I couldn't get out of it: it was a big night for Thack, and I hoped that by arriving at the last minute, when the lights were already down, no one would notice how weary I looked. Unfortunately, the only seat left was on one of the leather armchairs at the back of the room. I had Tinsley on one side, Marci on the other. Phoebe was a little farther down from me.
”Anxiety?” said Tinsley, loud enough for the entire audience to hear.
I nodded. Just then Phoebe leaned across Marci and said, ”I always take a Xanax for that. You should try it.”
”Actually, Atavan is a better anti-anxiety medication,” declared Marci. ”I mean, look at me. Things are horrible, but I feel amazing.”
”I pop an Ambien one night and a Valium the next,” said Tinsley. ”That way you don't get addicted to either of them.” She looked delighted, as though she'd unraveled the mystery of life.
Just then a red-headed girl in the row in front of us turned around and said, very matter of fact, ”If you're not sleeping, don't take Ambien. It's like an alarm clock. It wakes you up after four hours. I lick a Remeron tablet before bed. It's the strongest anti-depressant on the market. One lick knocks you out for twelve hours.”
”Atavan just feels like you are wrapped in one big blanket of love,” said Marci. She laughed a lot when she said it, and her eyes lit up.
Was everyone in New York on pills, I wondered with horror. Was that how Phoebe always looked so perky? How else do you manage three kids and a lifestyle business? G.o.d, maybe Kate Spade's on medication too, I thought. She always looks so bouncy, with her hair defying gravity like that. The fact is, all New York wives should look like the Corpse Bride. I was so tired my hair ached. Did everyone else's too? Or did the medicine take care of that? I felt like I was living in a chapter of Valley of the Dolls.
When the movie was over, I snuck quickly to the cloakroom and hurriedly wrapped myself in my fur coat. It was bitter outside. Hopefully I could escape without anyone noticing.
”Sylvie? Is that you or the yeti?”
It was Marci. My heart sank.
”Me,” I sulked, walking past Marci toward the elevators. ”I've got to go.”
”Wait,” she said. Then she looked at me with a sad expression. It was weird. ”There's something I have to tell you.”
”What?” I asked.
Marci glanced behind her surrept.i.tiously. No one else had come out of the screening room yet.
”I hate to be the messenger...but...it's Hunter. It's him.”
”What are you talking about?” I said.
”Sophia's 'married man.' It's your husband. She says he's madly in love with her, like when they were at Dalton.”
I looked at her with disbelief. What was she saying?
”How do you know?” I croaked. All I could utter was a broken whisper.
Marci cast her eyes downward, as though studying the giant daisies in the groovy Soho House carpet, and then back at me.
”I feel soooo ba-a-a-a-d. She was over at mine. I overheard her on the phone.”
”What did she say, exactly?” I dreaded Marci's answer.
”It was something about having gotten some jewelry from him, and they were going away together.”
”Away? Where?” I gasped.
”I don't know, but I'm furious with her...behaving like this. After I lent her, so generously, my Jet Set outfit with the red star. The only other person in the world who has that outfit is Athina Roussel. It makes your torso look like Giselle's. And I sacrificed all that and loaned it to Sophia, and then she betrays me like this, stealing one of my best friend's husbands, when I trusted her so much. Can you imagine?”
I looked at Marci with horror.
”I know. I was speechless too. To treat someone like that after they've lent you the holy grail of snow looks.”
”OK, well, I'm going home to...brood, I don't know,” I sighed miserably. I started to leave.
”Just a second, I have something for you,” said Marci, grabbing my arm. ”Don't think I'm a drug dealer or anything, but this is for you.”
Marci pressed a folded white handkerchief into my palm. I unwrapped it. Inside was a single tablet. I snapped my hand shut.
”Marci!”